


We Live Together

by gypsiesandjaywalkers



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:43:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsiesandjaywalkers/pseuds/gypsiesandjaywalkers
Summary: I watched a short video (link in comments) and wove some of the words into a one-shot.





	We Live Together

**Author's Note:**

> I took words from this video and made a completely new story: https://youtu.be/p1zhNSVWxfE

It has been a long time since I've walked passed this corner apartment. The one I shared with her. Even after we spent a year together, I still feel as though I barely knew her. My imperfect Angel.

I met her on a rainy Saturday morning. She was a paramedic with the FDNY, and I was just someone who happened to be in the right place at the right time. I watched transfixed as she methodically brought the man back to life. I think it was then that I started falling for her. The girl with haunted eyes, the kind that have seen too much. The kind of person whose soul is damaged. Maybe that's what drew me to her. My soul was just as damaged as hers. Our eyes met, she offered me a tired smile. I pointed to the coffee shop behind me and tilted my head. She told me she got off work at seven.

That night, we met for coffee. Coffee led to her taking me back to her place. That sparsely furnished apartment on the corner. We fucked that night. There is no other way to describe the animalistic mating that happens between two strangers. Two people looking to fill a void they didn't know existed.  
When I woke up the next morning, she was gone. A note left on her pillow that read "Thanks for a good time. I get off at seven again if you'd like to.. get off ;)" I still carry her note in my wallet. Perhaps that is the truest she has ever been with me.

Our relationship was torrid, but beautiful in its own way. We didn't talk much, in fact to this day I'm not even sure I know her real name. Whatever conversations we had of any meaning have long since been lost in a flood of alcohol and drugs. I could always tell what kind of mood she would be on depending on where I found her, by what she had seen that day. If her day was good, she would be in the bedroom, waiting for me with legs splayed and a smile on her lips. Asking nothing, but giving everything in return. If her day was bad, I might find her passed out in the bathtub, the needle still sticking out of her arm. She kept photographs in her bedside drawer, of all the men who had come before me and walked away. I could tell by the way she looked at me that my photograph would one day end up in that drawer.

It didn't bother me that I didn't know her story. If I did, I wouldn't have lived with her. If I knew everything about her, she wouldn't be interesting. Maybe that is why I find myself, standing outside this corner apartment once more. Her corner apartment. I knock before I even realize what I've done. She answers, and we exchange silent, knowing glances. The way it has always been. She steps back as I enter, pulling my shirt over my head and reaching for her. She smiles coyly and pulls me towards the mattress on the floor. We fuck. We drink. We fuck some more. She tells me she scored some high end shit from a dealer whose life she saved today.

The high we feel is like nothing else. As I bury myself into her for the final time, I think there can be nothing better. Perhaps now she knows I will never leave her. Perhaps now she knows I will be her last.

When they find us, we are still wrapped in each other's arms, smiles on our faces even though our eyes no longer see. In the end I fought for her, and I like to think in her own way, she fought for me too. We were just two lost souls, now we are finally at peace.


End file.
